


Just Desserts

by misha_anon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Chef Dean, First Kiss, Food Critic Castiel, Hand Feeding, M/M, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2558006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_anon/pseuds/misha_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Dean Winchester is a self-assured chef and Castiel Novak is a persnickety food critic and nobody expects things to turn out the way they do, but dessert is definitely a hit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Desserts

**Author's Note:**

> That's a terrible title, but I couldn't help myself. Sorry. _*lol*_

Dean has been worried for  _days_  about tonight's visit from renowned food critic Castiel Novak.  It isn't that he lacks confidence in his cooking; far from that, it's just that this Novak guy is as notoriously harsh in his reviews as he is humorless in person.  Dean's never met him, but he's certainly heard from enough people who  _have_  that tonight's meal had better be the best he's ever cooked if he wants even a  _chance_  at one of the critic's rare smiles. _  
_

The kitchen is already a whirlwind of activity when Dean arrives for work at four o'clock; Castiel's table is booked for 6:35 and it's  _well_  known that he hates to be kept waiting for anything.  Dean tries to push the rumors that have been flying around since the reservation was made from his mind as he drops into the hum of his well-run kitchen.  He's heard from more than one of the restaurant's staff that Castiel's terrible review was the beginning of the end of his predecessor's time as head chef.

The very second Dean learned that menu selection was up to him, and against  _everyone's_  advice, he decided to serve Castiel Novak - he of refined palate and delicate sensibilities - a burger.  It's not just  _any_  burger, though; it's both Dean's specialty and his personal favorite.  As he selects a tomato and an avocado to begin preparation, the pressure of the visit begins to fade away.

Over the next two-and-a-half hours, Dean focuses on cooking the  _best_  burger he's ever made.  He chops tomato and avocado, minces cilantro and juices a lemon before adding it all over a low heat with a drop of oil and a tablespoon of sugar to make the topping for the burger.  He slices his own cheese, a thick piece of cheddar and a thinner piece of provolone, and puts the wheat buns in the oven himself.  He sculpts a thick burger with a small hole in the center and cooks it over the open grill in the back of the kitchen, and still finds time to cut his own thick potato slices and grill them, too.

Dean looks at the clock and sees that it's six-thirty when he pulls the burger and fries off the grill.  His heart thumps with worry as he second-guesses his choice of menu for  _just_  a moment.  A deep inhale of perfectly grilled burger sets his mind at ease and he goes to work putting it all together on a plate.  At  _exactly_ 6:36 p.m. a waitress delivers a burger and fries to Castiel Novak in a five-star restaurant.  Dean leans against the counter and takes a deep breath, then grins.  He's just washed his hand and turned his attention to making dessert when a timid voice interrupts his thoughts.

"Um, Dean?"  The voice belongs to the wide-eyed young man who takes reservations and deals with unhappy patrons.  When Dean looks up from the cake he's cutting, the man's eyes are even wider than usual.  Dean frowns when Alfie says, "Mr. Novak would like to speak with you."

Dean looks at the clock and his stomach twists; it's not even 6:45 and  _Mr. Novak_  is known far and wide as a slow eater.  He gives Alfie what he  _hopes_  is a reassuring smile and says simply, "Okay." 

Of all the things Dean might have expected to see as he pushes through the door into the dining room, the  _last_  thing on the list is the blissful smile on Castiel's face.  He's seen pictures of the critic; of course, but they're  _nothing_  compared to how beautiful he is in real life.  The worried twist in Dean's stomach turns into something more like a nervous flutter as he approaches Castiel's table.

"You're the chef, I presume," Castiel says without preamble.  He's still smiling, though it's much more guarded now.

"Dean Winchester," Dean says, offering his hand to shake.  "At your service."

"Please have a seat," Castiel says, sparing a glance at Dean's outstretched hand before looking up to meet his eyes.

It's a damned good thing someone just told Dean to sit down since his knees feel oddly unsteady when Castiel's earnest blue gaze settles on his.  He pulls out the chair beside the critic and sits down, clearing his throat before he asks, "Is there a problem with your burger?"

"No," Castiel answers, turning his attention to the burger on his plate.  There's only one bite gone and the worry resurfaces in Dean's stomach as he waits for the  _bad_  news.  "It's quite..  inventive."

That's probably not good.  No, definitely not good.  Dean can't think of another time in his career when his food has been called 'inventive' by someone who wasn't about to  _fire_  him.  He jiggles his leg under the table, wiping one suddenly damp palm on his thigh, wishing as it rubs against worn denim that he'd taken his brother's advice and actually  _dressed up_  for tonight.  He opens his mouth to defend the burger, but can't really think of any defense.

"It's also  _incredibly_  good," Castiel says as he picks the burger up carefully.  He takes another big bite out of it, smiling around a mouthful of meat and toppings.  He's barely swallowed when he says, "It makes me very happy."

Dean can't believe his ears.  His heart beats faster as he watches Castiel really  _enjoy_  the burger right in front of him.  This man, the toughest food critic in the Midwest, is actually  _grinning_  while he eats.  Dean slowly relaxes as Castiel starts to ask about his influences and why he chose this meal specifically and what, exactly, is  _in_  this topping.  Before he knows it, the burger and fries are gone and an unheard-of empty plate sits on the table between them.

Castiel leans forward and takes a sip of his water, a teasing smile touching the corners of his eyes when he says, "I can't  _wait_  to see what's for dessert."

Dean barely fights down panic when he realizes he's completely forgotten about dessert.  He'd planned a cake assortment with a specialty topping, but since Castiel hates to wait, he no longer has time.  Instead, he gives a self-assured grin and a wink and rushes back to the kitchen, where  _everyone_  is watching him curiously for any sign of how his meeting with Castiel went.

He ignores them all, racking his brain for what he can throw together for a dessert to cap off a meal that was so  _obviously_  a hit with such a tough critic.  In a moment of despair, he hisses to the nearest sous chef, "Get me a white plate, strawberry sauce, and a small spoon."

His heart flips wildly in his chest as he gambles on  _not_  getting fired tonight for what he's about to do.  His hands tremble as he lifts a bit of the thick sauce with the spoon and starts to write in the center of the square plate.  This is definitely the worst idea he's ever had.  Worse even than the night he offered that cute guy cop a kiss if they could just forget about him peeing on the wall in front of the police station, which is widely regarded as his  _worst_  decision, especially by the cop in question.

When he's finished writing, Dean plasters on a close approximation of a confident smile and makes his way back to Castiel's table to deliver the dessert plate himself.  He puts it down and slides it across the table, watching Castiel's face nervously as he reads the message in strawberry sauce:  'Dessert at my place?'

Castiel stares at the plate for a long moment, brow furrowed, while Dean holds his breath and tries not to throw up from the stress of the long silence.  When the critic  _finally_  looks up at Dean, the corners of his lips are pulled up in a secretive little smile.  He motions Dean down even as he leans forward, until their cheeks are almost pressed together when he whispers, "I trust it will be an  _excellent_  dessert, Mr. Winchester."

* * *

As far as bad ideas go, this has to be one of the best Dean has ever had.  As soon as his knees stop shaking and he finds his voice, he and Castiel hammer out the details; they'll meet at Dean's apartment in half an hour for _dessert_.  

Naomi, the shift manager, looks doubtful when Dean tells her.  There's skepticism about the wisdom of his plan when she asks, "Are you  _sure_ about this?"

"Definitely," Dean answers with a grin.  "I mean have you  _seen_ this guy?"

" _Dean_ ," Naomi says, "be serious for two seconds."

"I'm being serious.  Dessert is my specialty."  

Dean wriggles his eyebrows suggestively; Naomi rolls her eyes in exasperation.  Giving up, she shrugs and says, "It's your funeral."

Fifteen minutes later, Dean is at his apartment, staring in horror at the cooking magazines and scraps of paper with recipe ideas that seem to clutter every flat surface.  In a frenzy, he tidies up the tables in the living room, shoving everything into one of the empty drawers of the end table beside the couch.  He moves on to the kitchen, putting away the clean dishes and magazines as he moves decisively from end of the room to the other.  By the time his doorbell rings; Dean is out of breath, his skin damp from exertion.

After taking a moment to compose himself - and check his short hair in the hall mirror - Dean opens the door to find Castiel standing with his head tilted back, studying the texture of the ceiling.  It's all he can do to ignore the long line of the critic's throat and the stubbled curve of his jaw.

"Come in, Cas," Dean says, his voice cracking slightly on the last word.  He flashes a confident grin, hopeful that it will cover the fact that his insides  _definitely_ just turned to jelly and started to squirm around.

Castiel's smile is brief as he steps into Dean's apartment and takes off his trademark tan overcoat.  Dean struggles to find something else to say to fill the silence.Failing that, he takes Castiel's coat and hangs it on the coat rack behind the door before leading the way into the living room.

"What's for dessert?"  

The question stops Dean in his tracks when they're halfway to the couch.  He'd somehow never considered that he'd be on the hook for actually providing  _dessert_.  Panic sets in somewhere between the sudden realization that his fridge is nearly empty and the recollection that Cas is one of the harshest food critics in the American Midwest.

"Uh," Dean stalls, "it's a surprise."  He barely avoids adding 'for us both' as he swallows down his panic and says, "Kitchen's this way."

Once in the kitchen, Castiel takes a seat on one of the island's barstools and studies the room's layout while Dean takes a quick look in the fridge.  He's relieved to see a handful of strawberries and some still-liquid chocolate sauce left over from a new recipe he tried out over the weekend.

"Here's the thing," Dean says, looking across the immaculate, tile-topped island at Castiel.  At once, Cas' full attention is turned on Dean, who nearly trips over his next words as he tries to squeeze them out around the lump of sheer terror that lodges itself in his throat.  "I've always thought that food should be  _experienced_ , not just  _tasted_."

Castiel looks skeptical, though Dean would almost  _swear_ there's a faint smile lurking.  This is, without a doubt, the worst idea he's ever had; he knows that now, as he pushes recklessly on.

"So, close your eyes and let me introduce you to the Dean Winchester Dessert _Experience_ ," Dean finishes, kicking himself as soon as the words are out of his mouth.  Cas stares for a long moment, then does as instructed, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a quick, but unmistakable, smile.  He turns on the stool until his back is to Dean, then leans back with his elbows on the island behind him.

In a quick scramble, Dean grabs the strawberries and the bowl of chocolate and rushes to Castiel's side.  His heart thumps with fear and anticipation and for the second time in half an hour, he's almost certain he's going to throw up any second.  He never expected Cas to be so much more beautiful up close; but, Christ, the guy's eyelashes go on for miles.  Dean struggles to clear his mind and compose himself as his gaze lingers on the long, straight line of Castiel's nose.

"I'm gonna touch you now," Dean says, his voice husky in his own ears.  He clears his throat reflexively and swallows as his eyes settle on Castiel's full, pink lips.  With one shaky hand, he takes the ripest strawberry and dips it in the cold chocolate, swirling it around until the tip is well coated; with the other, he palms Castiel's prickly jaw, unable to stop himself from brushing the pad of his thumb across his bottom lip.

Castiel's breath catches, but he doesn't flinch from Dean's touch.  Emboldened, Dean raises the strawberry and murmurs, "Open up."

Dean holds his breath as Castiel's lips part under his thumb; he forces his body to cooperate in pulling his hand from the man's face as he teases the chocolate covered strawberry against the swell of his bottom lip.  Cas leans forward the tiniest bit and takes a bite of the proffered treat, a soft hum of approval buzzing up from his chest as he chews.  Dean watches, transfixed, his chest burning with the need to breath though he's unwilling to take a breath and risk ruining the moment.

When Cas swallows, Dean offers another bite of the strawberry that's now dripping juice down his fingers; Castiel takes it without hesitation.  Blood rushes through Dean's ears as he watches the always proper Castiel Novak  _savor_  the simple bite of fruit as though it's the best thing he's ever tasted.  His jaw tightens when he notices the chocolate and strawberry juice at the corner of Castiel's mouth.

Despite the shaking of his knees and the liquid squirm of what once might have been his stomach, Dean tries to sound confident when he whispers, "I'm gonna touch you again."  With one deft swipe of his thumb, he collects the smudge of chocolate and juice.  To his surprise, Castiel turns his head to lick the sweetness from his skin, the warmth of his tongue sending a shiver down Dean's spine that nearly knocks him off his feet.

After taking a quick breath and quashing down the voice that's screaming 'you're doing great, Winchester, don't fuck it up now', Dean  moves to palm Castiel's jaw once again as he leans down for a kiss.  Cas' lips are parted on a shallow breath; the taste of strawberry and chocolate heavy on Dean's tongue before their lips ever meet.  There's nothing tentative about the press of lips, Castiel's hand finding a mirrored place on Dean's face.

Dean's blood sings through his veins as they share an eager, chocolate-covered-strawberry flavored kiss with too much ragged breath and not enough finesse.  Castiel slides forward on the barstool even as Dean's other hand finds the island's edge to steady them both against the fine tremble that comes with first kisses.  Castiel's tongue teases and tastes, a charged give and take accompanied by half-voiced groans of pleasure that make Dean ache bone-deep for more than just a kiss.

He pulls away, though; finally, reluctantly, biting at Castiel's kiss-swollen bottom lip for one final taste in case it’s his last.  Their lips still almost touch as they share hot, ragged breaths.  He opens his eyes slowly, pulling back incrementally until he can properly focus on the most dazzling blue eyes he's ever seen, pupil wide with the same desire that curls through his own chest like a wisp of smoke.

"Was dessert up to your standards, Mr. Novak?"  Dean's words are a breath across Castiel's lips, his grip on the edge of the counter tightening in an effort to steady himself.

"I think I need another taste before I can fairly evaluate your proficiency, Mr. Winchester," Castiel answers in a low rumble as he drags his thumb across Dean's spit wet lips.

" _Gladly_ ," Dean says, reaching for another strawberry.

 


End file.
